The Werewolf of Bamberg by Oliver Pötzsch Page A

errands, I would have thought twice before coming along on this shopping trip.” Groaning, Barbara pushed past the many displays in the Fischgasse, where brook trout and slimy perch were thrashing about. A huge catfish glared scornfully at the two women, while mussels and river snails soaked in wooden tubs next to the displays. It was already past noon, but the hustle and bustle of the marketplace showed no sign of ending.
    “We promised Katharina,” Magdalena said in a stern voice, “so stop complaining. Besides, the only thing we still need now is the crabs for this evening, and then we’ll be done.”
    “Yes, after we’ve bought thyme, carrots, cabbage, onions, eggs, stockfish, a jug of muscatel, half a pig of bacon fat, and . . . oh, I’ve forgotten the stinking tobacco for Father.” With a sigh, Barbara sat down at the edge of a well and splashed some water on her face to cool off. “How many markets have we been to today? I stopped counting hours ago.”
    “You insisted on seeing the marketplace.” Magdalena grinned. “Aunt Katharina likes to cook, and surely we can get a few recipes from her.”
    “Well! I didn’t come to Bamberg just to sit by the stove and exchange recipes. Besides, I don’t want to get as fat as Aunt Katharina, and . . . Hey, wait a minute!”
    Magdalena had turned away with a shrug and continued down past the many stalls on Fischstrasse toward the harbor. Their shopping trip had indeed taken the two hangman’s daughters through half the city. They’d gone from the Green Market in front of St. Martin’s Church to the fruit market, the milk market, and finally down Butcher’s Lane. The city seemed much friendlier to Magdalena now than it had on their arrival the night before. The streets were wider and cleaner than in Schongau, and some were even paved. Gaily colored, half-timbered houses, breweries redolent of malt, and a huge number of small churches and chapels bore witness to the rich heritage of this seat of the Archdiocese of Bamberg, formerly one of the mightiest cities in the Reich. It was clear, however, that Bamberg’s best years lay behind it. Again and again the two women had come across abandoned houses and ruins that looked like festering wounds between the other buildings. Not for the fist time, Magdalena asked herself why people had simply abandoned their magnificent homes.
    Up to that point, they had been strolling only through the new part of the city, a large area standing like an island surrounded by two branches of the Regnitz. The old part of the city, where the canons and the bishop resided, lay on the other side of the canal, where a cathedral was built atop a hill, the highest point in the city. The two sections of town met at the harbor, not far from city hall. Huge river rafts, flat-bottomed boats, and small barques traveled serenely past the houses there. More ships lay at anchor at the piers to pay their tolls before proceeding to Schweinfurt or Forchheim. A wooden crane was unloading crates from one of the rafts, and the air smelled of algae, fish, and stagnant river water. Men shouted, laughed, and cursed as fishwives offered their slippery catch to passersby.
    Magdalena went to a booth off to one side and bought the river crabs that Katharina had asked for. Her basket was now filled to the top, and Barbara also had a heavy bundle to carry, with carrots and bunches of leeks sticking out of their wrappings.
    “So that’s it,” Magdalena said with relief. “Let’s take these things as quickly as we can to the hangman’s house before Aunt Katharina gets impatient, and then—”
    She was interrupted by a drumroll and a squawking fanfare of rusty trumpets, and when she turned around, she saw a group of men down at the harbor with drums and wind instruments. They wore colorful, threadbare costumes and powdered wigs on their heads like those currently in fashion at German and French courts. In the middle was a beanpole of a man who, with great